


Nicolae and The Great Luca Lupescu

by TheInternationalAffair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Candy, Chocolate Factory, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInternationalAffair/pseuds/TheInternationalAffair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicolae is a young, hard-working boy who now lives in a struggling shack of an orphanage run by a Turkish man and a Greek man who do not get along under any circumstances. Although he has little to eat and little to drink, the one thing that Nicolae dreams of most is the creamy, sweet taste of CHOCOLATE. Lucky for him (or not), not too far away there sits the grandest chocolate factory that the world has ever seen, with one strange quality about it-- no one ever enters and no one ever leaves.  Until, that is, right now...</p><p>(A Charlie and the Chocolate Factory-inspired work. Violence warnings issued for some potentially disturbing images, but I promise you it's actually really cute ;_;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface: The Room of Think

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, a few things:
> 
> 1) I have been dying to write something based on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory since forever. That being said, I'm going to take a few creative liberties from it, meaning that there are some elements that will be close to the book and others not so much. The general idea (give or take a few twists ;) ) should be there, however. The story itself is like the 2005 movies in the sense that I'm going to see how many painful family feels I can inject into this story, insert evil laugh here.
> 
> 2)That being said, pardon some of your favorite characters for their behavior here. I promise you it won't go unpunished. ;)
> 
> 3) What you're reading right now is just a preface to all the action, and only the beginning to a heavy heaping of dramatic irony. Consider it a "pilot chapter" or sorts.
> 
> 4) I may or may not include annotations a la Terry Pratchett. Just watch out for them, okay?
> 
> That being said, enjoy!  
> xoxo  
> TheInternationalAffair

Somewhere far out there, hiding in the hustle and bustle of a busy little city near the Mediterranean Sea, sat a cheery young man in a plush velvet chair drumming his bright red nails against his desk.

He had something to think about, and to think of it he did; and when it came time for a proper think, there was no better place to do it that in his very purposeful Thinking Room, away from the creaky cogs of machines and the sugary fog of his domain to a peaceful corner where all instances of a thought, even the whisper of a blooming idea, were born.

Here was the birthplace of every creation to the man's name.

The warm, welcoming scent of toasted pistachios drifted into the room, balancing the smell of the cherry-scented, sugar-coated cherry wood that tickled the tip of the man's nose. He looked up from his writing and out into his 'office' to see what sources of inspiration he can gather from his Thinking Room this time around.

To be quite honest, it wasn't exactly an 'office--' any resemblance that it had to the modern-day business man's 'office' was now covered in striped boxes, filled to the tippy top with delightful and delectable inventions of all shapes and sizes, for nothing boring and dull could ever touch the ground that this man walked upon. One box was knocked over on its side with and array of pearly-colored candies wrapped in Edible Elderberry candy wrapping, spilled all over his Chocolate Maps of the World collection, a masterpiece of his devising if he said so himself.

The man smiled. He knew he had come a very long way. No longer had he an empty belly to worry of, nor the cold, bitter wind of a Central European winter to freeze him--instead, echoes of his name (or the very fashionable name he had picked for his choice of career, anyway) could be heard over the entire world, music to every human being on the planet, from infant to adult, with a insatiable sweettooth.

He was the Earth's Greatest Candyman, the Most Cunning Chocolatier of the Century, and most of all, the Looniest of Loonies that Ever Lived, and he was very happy with every single one of those titles.

And yet, despite the fortunes of his success and the millions of smiles he had brought upon the faces of every citizen of this land far and wide, the cheery man could no longer find his own smile in this instant.

Something was missing and therefore amiss. There was something that the man was seeking that desperately called for his attention, and it was lost in the recesses of his mind, and the feeling of it was so dreadful that it had plagued the man's mind for nights upon nights until he could swear that his honey-colored hair had a foul stench to it no matter how much care and conditioning he gave it.

He knew in his heart that if he didn't solve the issue entirely, he would be a sad and miserable man with a sad, cranky factory that would produce nothing but sad and miserable and sad and cranky things like one would expect from the mind of a sad and miserable and sad and cranky old man.

No one would like it! Everyone would absolutely hate it, there would be witch burnings, and that simply wouldn't do!

And so, to prevent himself from becoming the sad and miserable and sad and cranky old man that was clearly up his pathway, the man had finally decided to squat himself into his private place to work a few things out.

As his eyes turned towards the messy state of his desk, he spotted a small ball of edible gold that he picked up and began to play with, feeling the soft, pliable material twist and turn in his hands. He smashed it between his palms, singing a little rhyme to himself to get his creative juices flowing:

_Just a little hint of the smallest little spark,_  
 _Could light up an abyss in the darkest of the dark;_  
 _You never know when something magical will hit,_  
 _You've probably been thinking that your whole world's gone to*--_

Before the man could finish the rhyme, however, he dropped the golden ball (now a smushed-up parcel of whatchamacallit) onto an old frame, which nearly fell off his desk before the man, agile and ready as ever, quickly caught it and pulled it back onto the desk, knocking other paraphernalia off in its place. He took a quick look at the flimsy old photo frame he had just caught and inspected the scrap of paper that was drawn inside, featuring the stick figure of a young boy with the cheeriest of grins and a very small fang.

Memories of childhood rushed back into the man's brain and pushed themselves out in the form of a single salty tear in the corner of the man's left eye, and he wondered to himself if there could possibly be a way to take them back. Surely it couldn't be impossible.

Impossible?

Why was he even thinking about things that were impossible?

Now, 'impossible' was one word that could never escape the man's mouth, because there was absolutely nothing in this place that was impossible!

And if it seemed impossible now, then he just had to turn it around!

Turn it around.

Turn!

It!

Around!

That's it!

Now that the man could feel happy, delightful thoughts returning to his head, he quickly snatched up one sugary sheet of sugar-fiber paper and wrote upon it a few notes in chocolate ink-- he would send these to his lead worker in a bit, and be off on his way now that the Thinking Room had finally fulfilled its purpose.

With a click of two noisy heels and a fan-kick, the man sped out of the room and locked its wobbly door behind him as quickly as his maturing brain would allow him to (a very difficult task, as the door was a wavy-shaped contraption riddled with thousands of puzzles that served as security measures for anyone else who tried to enter), his document in hand as the key to a brand new day for the Looniest Cunning Candy Man of the Century who Ever Lived.

He now knew what he had to do and by golly, he was going to get started with his mission as soon as he possibly could!

The man closed his eyes and sighed. What an exciting prospect! He took a moment to admire his stroke of genius.

Happy with his decision, the man lifted the back of his hand to his mouth and licked one painted fingernail.

It was strawberry flavored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *By the way, the word is "bits." I hope you weren't thinking of anything else, you foul-mouthed uncouth.


	2. Chapter 1: Nicholae and Uncle Sadik and Herakles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a lot longer than expected. I apologize in advance for all the explaining I'll have to do it first, but that makes the fun part even more fun, eh?
> 
> ...
> 
> I have a feeling this fic is going to be looooong.
> 
> In any case! Do enjoy!
> 
> xoxo  
> TIA/Megu

No matter how bad things seemed, Nicholae knew it could always be worse.

The winds could be a little harsher, the windows a little more cracked around the edges, and the sheets could be thinner and full of even more wear, tear, and mothholes than they already were.

Perhaps the water wasn't filthy enough to be undrinkable, and the walls were not fragile enough for Nicholae to be considered in the context of considerably impossible living conditions.

Maybe it was the sack of straw that each boy had for a mattress-- it was itchy and little pieces of the straw would poke at Nicholae's back as he slept, but it was certainly too comfortable to be compared to a sack of needles, for instance.

The roof could break a little more often.

The small excuse of a stove with a sad little fire to warm it could be ice.

The floorboards could always be a a little creakier (especially at night, the time when most of the boys would creep out of their beds and dig in the cupboards for a light night snack consisting of little crumbs and occasionally some delectable insects).

All in all, as Nicholae always told himself when he swept the endless amount of debris on the ground in the morning, it was quite bad, but it wasn't any worse than it could be. It could certainly suffice to say that the boy was quite used to a life of poverty, and being hungry and cold was something he was very used to starting from the day he was born. An empty belly was as old as yesterday to him, after all.

But enough about little Nicholae--rest assured that there will be plenty of time to get to know him throughout the story (and Nicholae isn't really a boy who likes all this attention, anyway). 

Anyway, despite the poor soul's terribly cold and terribly starving conditions, it wasn't all that bad--it did help that the people running the place were quite nice.

Except for the part where they weren't very nice to each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I'm goin' to say it once for the millionth time, I can't be the only one runnin' the damn place here! Even the lil' brats do more work around the place than you do!"

A certain Mr. Sadik Adnan, one of the owners of the orphanage where Nicholae had resided in for the last seven years, angrily shook a broomstick at a curly-haired young man with with one tan, muscular arm. Tall, burly, and bearded, Mr. Adnan, who preferred being referred to as "Uncle Sadiq," was the man responsible for cleaning up the spots the younger boys couldn't reach, as well as the pile of broken brooms in the corner of the bedroom that served as a grim reminder to the stick thin boys who misbehaved that indeed, Uncle Sadik was not one to be messed with.

Appearance aside, however, Uncle Sadik never liked to make any of the boys cry. "I see you all starvin' and cleanin' around the house every wakin' minute of the day," he'd often tell Nicholae, "I know ya lil' brats wouldn't do anythin' bad, I just couldn't bring myself to do it!"

He certainly did follow through with his promise despite his aggressive nature, but that still left room As all the members of the orphanage knew too well, Sadik was certainly no calm-tempered man-- he was a storm of fire and anger. And since he couldn't take his anger out of the kids, too innocent and sweet and reminiscient of his childhood of being a rambunctious little boy, he'd often take it out at the second proprietor of the orphanage, a certain Herakles Karpusi, whose more tranquil nature was soothing to Nicholae and the boys, but whose peaceful mind often reduced him to passiveness and petting cats. He wasn't always the biggest help around the place, but when angry Greek citizens threatened to take down the boys' only home, his cultural ties and excellent grasp of the Greek language (then again, he was Greek, after all) ensured that business would go on as usual without the orphanage being torn down by human hands. He had long, unkempt curly brown hair and a similar muscular build to Uncle Sadik, but sleepy eyes and pale skin that made him look like a ghost from the boys' winter dreams.

It was the "sleepiness" that seemed to bother Sadik the most.

"D'ya really think sittin' around and scratchin' the lice off a buncha stray cats is going to make this place any cleaner?" Uncle Sadik often asked Herakles, after stomping to the front of the house and scaring off a few dirty stray cats prowling the rickety steps.

After a few seconds of contemplation, Herakles would slowly and deliberately open his mouth to speak, then change his mind suddenly and opt to ignore the other man. One could swear sometimes that he was muttering insults under his breath that children like Nicholae were never allowed to hear.

Uncle Sadik was always clever enough to catch on, however, and he'd slam the wooden end of the the broom he was holding as close to Herakles' back as he could, scaring the last few felines into alleyways and garnering Herakles' full attention.

"Leave us alone." Would be Herakles' only response before he turned back to stare at the coastline. Millions of tourists with plenty of coins in their pockets would walk past speaking in foreign tongues. A few of them would look back at Herakles, genuinely disturbed by the condition his house was in.

"Us!? Well, excuse me, princess, looks like it's jus' you right now, and you just happen to be doin' abso-fucking-lutely nothing!" Uncle Sadik would roar, now startling several of the boys inside. One of the older boys with one peculiar long lock of long greyish-brown hair would look up tiredly from his 'bed' to watch the scene unfold.

"When the time comes, it will all work out in the end," Herakles would finally reply very sagely, "Don't waste your energy before better things are to come."

Uncle Sadik would return a look of utter befuddlement as Herakles would ignore him once again.

"Alright, I'll just let you keep being a dumb ol' brat," he'd say dismissively, "I'll go start the soup."

And with that, both men would return to their respective opposite sides of the room, trying to avoid each other whenever possible. Even Uncle Sadik, who loved a good fight now and then, got exhausted from all the work needed to maintain the orphanage, and didn't really feel up to arguing. As much as a pain it was for him to end up doing all the work, Sadik knew all too well that both men had their own way of dealing with the circumstances they were in.

If there was anything they could agree on though, it was what they had told Nicholae time and time again:

It could always be worse.

 

Yet, it could also get better.


End file.
